


Oranges and Roses

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Charles tries to brighten Maxwell's birthday.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Oranges and Roses

The small stack of letters entered his outstretched hand without fanfare, without baseball scores he neither cared about nor entirely understood, without sophomoric humor, - even without conversation. Charles lifted a pale brow in question and looked toward the exotic shorthair padding along beside his owner. Today, the cat wore a tiny mail carrier’s uniform. “Cat got your tongue, Klinger?” 

“No, sir. Just out of sorts, I guess.” He placed mail on Hawkeye and BJ’s respective bunks. 

A smirk tugged at Winchester’s lips. What must it take to discomfit a man who regularly paired stilettos and a very worn Mud Hens jersey? “Well do tell me from whence they may be acquired so that I can send away post haste.” 

“What’s that, Major? I don’t follow.” 

“These lost sorts of yours. If you continue to deliver the mail in this subdued fashion, I will quite forget where we are.” 

Believing that Charles was having a dig at him, Klinger replied, “Lunch is in twenty minutes, Major. That’ll remind you in a hurry!” 

***

At lunch, Charles surprised himself by looking for the Lebanese clerk. He would have to write to Honoria; he was becoming a rank sentimentalist. He found the dark-eyed man alone. 

Klinger barely looked up when he sat his tray down. He was mooning into a purplish cup of coffee. No one knew what occasionally gave a royal tint to the coffee of the 4077th; they had just learned to drink past the weird hue. Most people avoided adding sugar, though; confronting the lilac grains at the bottom of the cup was just too unsettling. 

Winchester knew how his fellow surgeons would have addressed Klinger at this point:

Potter: What’s eating you, boy? 

BJ: Spend all your pin money in one place? 

Hawkeye would even  _ flirt _ with the man to cheer him up. Hawkeye flirted with everybody... and somehow managed to come off as charming in spite of it. 

But what could he, Charles Emerson Winchester III, supposedly the most eloquent person in their camp, say to dispel the gloom that had settled about Klinger’s shoulders? He and the clerk were wont to jab and carp at one another; would a kindness be looked at with suspicion? 

He decided on, “Have you found any sorts since last we spoke, Corporal?” 

It won him a small smile at least. “Not a one, Major.” 

“Might I be permitted as to enquire what has brought you so low?” 

Klinger side-eyed him, but his voice was gentle and his face open. “Sure, uh, thanks for asking, Major. Nobody else has.”

“Is that part of the problem, then? Your clerking duties do bring with them a certain allotment of abuse.” 

“You’re telling me. Major Houlihan threw a boot at me yesterday! A whole boot! I probably have treads on my back! And all I did was pass on information. It’s not my fault when a convoy gets hit, but try telling anybody that.”

Charles felt the faintest stirrings of guilt. He wasn’t completely innocent when it came to filling the messenger with birdshot when the news wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

“But it is not just that. You’ve weathered worse than being treated like the proverbial cat on the back fence.” 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess I should just be glad Major Burns isn’t here.”

Winchester had heard rumors about the man he’d replaced. (He refused, even in thought, to call the man a doctor.) If those rumors were true, Frank had frequently reduced Klinger to tears. Charles really hated him for that. Here, the physician sensed a fork in the road. Was it better to address what he’d heard about Burns? Or better to leave his cruelty in the past? 

“Thank you, Klinger.”

“For what, sir?”

“I think you are the first, in however roundabout a fashion, to be grateful that  _ I _ am here and Burns is not.”

Klinger’s smile had him blinking away sunspots. “Well, you sure are easier to talk to. And don’t let the guys in the Swamp fool you. If the army tried to swap you out for Burns, those two would steal a tank to defend and keep you.” 

The image made the edge of his lips curl - the Winchestrian equivalent of a pleased laugh. “Let us hope it does not come to that. As for being a good listener, Max, you, ah, have not told me anything yet.” 

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” He hesitated. “You’re not going to laugh or anything?” 

“I am not Burns, as you have already noted. Neither am I Hunnicutt or Pierce. I won’t laugh.”

“Alright. It’s, well, it’s my birthday. Usually my family sends me something. Baklava, mostly. But either the mail is slow or they forgot and it sort of... I don’t know. Drove home how lonely it is here, I guess.” 

“So, under the circumstances, wishing you a happy birthday would be improper?”

“No. Thanks, Major. I’ll get over it. Probably silly to care about in the middle of a war, anyway. I guess I just wanted the pick me up.” 

Charles didn’t possess a perfect solution, but he did offer sincere wishes for a happy year. The way Klinger brightened to hear it hurt, however; it was such a small wish in the face of the great tragedy in which they lived, but it seemed to give him so much. 

***

In the next week, the company clerk noticed a change. When the projector broke, mid-film as it was wont to do, no one threw popcorn at him. Potter praised the grooming he’d given Sophie, saying her coat looked like blue-ribbon satin. BJ passed along some patterns he’d gotten from Peg - all without being asked! Margaret even shared her nail polish. It was all too pat to be a coincidence. 

Poking his head into the Swamp, Klinger smiled at the man who’d set it in motion. “Thanks for the sorts, Major.” 

Charles turned down the record player, but replied, “I am sure I have no idea what you are referring to.”

“I kinda thought you’d say that, but you’re the only one I told, so you can scrap the false modesty. It was very kind, Major.”

It was in that moment that Klinger realized he wasn’t the only one at the 4077th who took a share of abuse; Charles looked positively tickled - and maybe a bit abashed - to be thanked. “You’re welcome. All I really did was remind them how they feel about you. But since you saw through me, can I add my part to the celebration?”

“There’s more? Happy birthday to me!”

Winchester rummaged in his foot locker which, Klinger was amused to see, he no longer bothered to keep locked. A lock hadn’t been forged that would deter his bunkmates. He turned with a red tin with Arabic writing. 

Klinger swallowed back a rising lump of emotion. “If that’s what I think it is, I severely underestimated your connections, Major.” 

“It is not a cake, but given what you said, I thought it might serve as a substitute.” 

Klinger gingerly parted the metal lid from the tin and lifted the tissue paper inside. He breathed in the scent of orange blossoms, rose water, butter, and hardened sugar with an expression that bordered on bliss. Having indulged in a moment of olfactory nostalgia, the clerk launched himself into Charles arms in a hug of gratitude that caught the taller man completely off-guard... but that didn’t feel half bad. Then Klinger was tugging him away from his solitary rite of listening to music and toward the mess tent. “It’s better with tea,” he explained of the baklava, “But coffee will work too.”

Charles halted, confused. “You want me to share it with you?”

“Yeah. I won’t make you sing Happy Birthday or anything, promise.” 

After they were seated, Charles followed the lead of his companion and tried not to think of the Mad Hatter and tea parties. “So we eat the flowers?” he asked, watching Klinger sift the sugary petals from between the trays. 

“Yep. They’re orange blossoms and edible roses. But you don’t have to if they don’t seem like your kind of thing.”

“I’ve endured many a mess tent monstrosity- I think I can brave honeyed petals.” 

“Here.” Klinger separated the petals and found a few with a liberal coating of sugar. He held it up and Winchester took it. Unknown to either the Major or the Corporal, wide eyes watched from across the room.

“Don’t look now,” said Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce, “but Klinger has Charles literally eating out of his hand.”

Margaret tried to be covert, but Klinger and Winchester weren’t paying attention anyway. “I can’t believe it. Those two? Friends?”

“Charles did remind us about his birthday,” BJ pointed out. 

“I like it,” Potter volunteered. “They’re my oddest ducks, those two. Seems only right they’d flock together.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow, mischief both in his eyes and flitting about his lips. “Ducks?” he teased. “More like a royal swan and a cuckoo bird.”

Potter gave him a stern look. “Don’t you go splashing about in my duck pond, Pierce. It’d do Winchester a world of good to have someone under his wing. And Klinger could use the protection.”

That settled the matter, but throughout lunch the eyes of each one of the officers strayed over to the odd couple nesting in their midst. 

***

Later that night, the odd ducks remained together and Charles told Klinger about a tradition his sister initiated when they were kids. A single birthday never satisfied her desire for sparkle and celebration (especially with stuffy relatives directing the anticipated day), so they created a “birthday season,” - a week of activities, surprise gifts, and making her feel special. 

Like Honoria, Klinger liked celebrations. Why shouldn’t he enjoy his own season? 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Why not? I am watching the stars with you through the bombed out roof of an ambulance.”

Klinger bumped a shoulder into the Major, a gesture he wouldn’t have dared even a short time ago. “Don’t come down too far in the world over me. I’m no Winchester. Not like Honoria.” 

“I am on my back already - and you do remind me of her.”

Klinger sat up on one elbow. “Isn’t she fancy, like you?”

Charles laughed. “She is kind and good.” He tugged at his hem. “And fashionable- like you.” 

That touch made his thigh tingle with warmth. “Would she like me?” 

“Yes. Very much.”

It was a gift Charles did not realize he was giving, but Max treasured it. 

***

Charles’ plans for a birthday season got off to a rocky start when the war intruded with plenty of wounded. 

“Festive fingernails, birthday girl,” Charles praised his favorite corpsman as they passed during triage. 

“They’ll be chipped ‘ta hell by the end of this shift.”

“Are you asking me to retouch them?”

Klinger looked at those huge, talented hands. “Wouldn’t that be like asking the Sistine Chapel guy to paint an apartment, sir?”

Charles’ eyes brightened, pleased at this show of wit. “P’raps. Are you turning me down?”

“Not on your life.” 

That was how Charles ended up surrounded by tiny pots of paint after seventeen hours of surgery. Pierce groaned at him, disbelieving. Hunnicutt’s feet hung over the bunk into a bedpan filled with hot water and epsom salts. 

“You know, Winchester, if you’re going to make us suffer nail polish fumes, you could at least get us some girls.” 

“I doubt any reputable woman would cross the threshold of this tent unless she had a firearm held on her,” Charles shot back. “The Corporal had to be emphatically persuaded, pretty as he is.” He didn’t add that after the smells of the operating room - some chemical, some decidedly organic, nail polish was welcome. 

Hawkeye leered. “And how did you persuade him, exactly?”

Klinger tensed; he didn’t care for the idea of Charles getting hassled over him - especially not if the jibes were crude. The Major was too refined for that kind of thing. 

Charles never even lifted his head. “Never you mind, Pierce. Finis, my dear. Your colors are restored.” 

“Come over here and I’ll blow on ‘em for you,” Hawk offered. 

“No thanks, Captain. Gotta go get tomorrow’s outfit ready.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at Charles. “Thanks, Major.” 

The Swamp Rats did hassle Charles the rest of the evening for the sweetness in that voice, but Charles was too happy to care.

***

“I didn’t know you could draw, Major. These are swell.”

“Mmm - anatomy usually. From school. Honoria instructed me in what is haute couture at the moment.”

“But the ideas are from you. Cherry blossoms. The sea.”

“Ah, well, yes.” He wasn’t accustomed to being so easily read. 

_ You really see me like this _ ? He turned the pages. It was his form, rightly enough - and the knowledge that Charles knew his body well enough to reproduce it in charcoal, shade it in colored pencil… “We should work together after the war.”

“Men of fashion?” 

“Well, you could still keep up the medicine stuff, too.”

“With you as my lovely receptionist?”

“I think that’d scare people off.”

“Those sorts of people have hearts of the kind I cannot fix.”

Max indulged in the dream of seeing Charles every day  _ forever _ . He would ruin it, of course, by saying all that he felt for the man… but this was meant to be his birthday season- the only one he would ever know - so he lived a moment in the softness of the dream. “I’d always do my best work for you, Major.” The words:  _ ‘cause I love you _ stayed in his heart. 

*** 

The next present he received from the Major was a book - and an apology. 

“I, ah, behaved rather poorly the last time you asked me to read for you.”

“Nah. It was funny as hell - I like to see the joking side of you. And I deserved it. Besides, no, never mind.”

Charles gestured for him to continue. “Please.” 

“I… it wasn’t really my kinda book, anyway. I like gals fine but not  _ just _ gals.”  _ Lately, not gals at all _ . 

“That was terribly brave, Maxwell.”

“You’re a doctor. Figure you’ve seen worse… whaddaya call ‘em? Misfigures?”

It was a fine word, Charles thought - the marriage of misfit and disfigured, but the thoughts behind it were quite wrong. “My dear, you are neither ill nor malformed.” 

“Laverne said I was… when she cut me loose. She said she knew what I really wanted was to play a gal to another guy.” He lifted worried eyes. “Sometimes I do,” he whispered. “Besides, if it ain’t sick, how come they keep sendin’ me to Sid?” 

“There is a difference between socially unaccepted, which I fear your feelings remain, and sick or broken. Laverne is clearly a child and a poor friend, and Maxwell - you are very much, in this, not alone.” 

“You, sir?” He shook his head. “But you dated movie stars! Models! I saw the pictures.”

“My family desires me to walk a very particular path. The movie stars were meant as an enticement. They left my head quite unturned.”

“Can I… would it be alright to hug you, sir?” 

Charles spared him the effort, taking him into his arms and onto his lap. Max had seen a picture of him with Brigitte Bardot in just such a pose. “Thank you. I think… I think this is my favorite present.” 

“It is rather a good book.”

“Don’t joke. I’m proud of you. You didn’t… you didn’t hafta help me this way - a way that hurts you. It’s like giving blood.” 

“As I recall, we share that, too - a blood type. Fitting, no?” 

Max just nuzzled his dark head under his chin and breathed easily for one of the only times during the Korean War. 

***

The culmination of birthday season came during a lull. The Major summoned his friend and near-constant sidekick and informed him that they were escaping. 

“Passes, sir? The Colonel never said.”

“I asked him to allow me to surprise you.” A blush colored his cheeks for a moment as he recalled Potter lecturing him - sternly! - about the proper treatment of so sweet “a little gal” as Maxwell Q. Klinger. He’d more or less had to declare the honest nature of his intentions in the office - stumbling through them - to prevent Potter playing chaperone! Thinking of the dour cavalryman perched in the backseat like a vulture, service revolver in easy reach, Charles fought a grin. 

“Well, it’s gonna take me time ta pack.”

“That is part of the adventure. We will buy you new in Seoul - the latest fashions.”

Klinger’s eyes widened. “Can we do that!?”

“Mad Americans on leave, loose with their money? We may do anything we like.” 

Klinger had an entire list of “anythings” he wanted to do with the Major, so he eagerly took the wheel and pointed them toward Seoul. 

In the city, Charles took charge, squiring him to clothing shops and refusing to let him look at price tags. Once they’d found a dress that made Max keep opening the shopping bag to look at the rich colors, they returned to the hotel, where Charles ordered room service - in courses! 

Max had never eaten so upscale a meal, so he allowed Charles to hold things to his lips without noticing. The Major noticed, however, thrilling to the gentle brush of his lips, his pleased hums over fine food. 

“How’m I ever gonna pay you back for your birthday?”

“I stopped having them ages ago so you are free of debt.”

Max chuckled at him. “Nice try. You aren’t old, Major.” 

_ Not when I am with you, at any rate.  _ “The benefit of doing away with birthdays.” He winked. 

After dinner, they visited trinket and curio shops that catered to tourists. Max made his companion laugh by making up elaborate tales for how the items came to be on display. Charles tried to buy him everything that brightened his eyes. When they returned to the room, the bed had been decorated with rose petals and orange blossoms. 

Charles tipped his chin. “One more gift, pet, if you want it. I know it has been a terribly long time since you were caressed. Held. I am not the ideal candidate, perhaps, but if you will consent to imagining me into a better shape, I believe that I can please you.” 

“You… you wanna do that? With me?” 

“Oh, yes. Very much. But I treasure your friendship, Max, so I understand if you would rather not.” 

Max laughed - breathless, maybe hysterical. “I rather  _ would _ . I just… Major, I don’t really know  _ how _ .” 

“My dear? You mean because…?” He found himself unsure how to phrase what he sought to say.

“I mean because I’ve never … y’know.”

_ We are both at a loss, tonight,  _ Charles thought giddily. “My darling…”

“It’s okay, right? You don’t mind it?”

“It is not only okay… it is  _ enticing _ .”

Max smiled and placed a finger on his lips. “You don’t like to share, you mean.” 

“I do not. Especially with those who would not treasure you enough to keep you near and loved and safe. Now, might I be permitted to see what rose petals look like against your soft hair? I have been imagining it for days.” 

Max obliged him, wondering what it cost to get roses in Seoul and pay someone to sprinkle them on the borrowed blankets. Charles arranged them and the orange blossoms in a curving crown about his tresses, playing with the soft strands, dropping kisses on his head and neck and shoulders as he went. “Mmm, you make me long for a camera. You are breathtaking.”

“You should switch me views.” It took most of his bravery to say it, but Charles could hear that his admiration was genuine. “Or you could jus’ show me more of you.” 

“My dear Maxwell, are you trying to coax me into a state of undress?” 

“You shouldn’t need coaxing, Major. Bet you’re so pretty you should jus’ walk around that way.” 

“I rather believe my tentmates would object.”

“Only outta jealousy. Please? At least roll your shirt cuffs up.”

It touched his vanity - he did have nice arms - and he smiled when Maxwell traced them, touch reverent and shy, but not without desire. “Oh, pet… you might ruin a better man than me looking up with those eyes.” 

“So let me. Tell me how. I think it’d be real pretty - seeing you, Charles.” 

“Ah - you can say my name.” 

“It’s too special to say all the time. If other people heard me say it… they’dve known.”

“Known?”

“How much I like you. How handsome I think you are. I’ve always thought it. Since you got here. So let me show you, huh? Make you feel good? You can say that right - if it’s good?” 

“I shall happily say anything you like. Anything that pleases you. This is meant to be the culmination of  _ your  _ birthday season, my dear.”

“I don’t know about culmi- whatever but I bet you can make me,”

“Maxwell!” Charles’ exclamation covered what he would have said and they fell together, laughing. 

Taking advantage of the Major’s laughter-shaken form, Max’s hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest, gripping his thighs. His fingertips burned through his clothes - hot with hunger, pushing everything aside that he could, undoing whatever he couldn’t. Then he leaned back to take it all in: the soft swell of his stomach, the velvet-sheathed ribs, the strong chest, the throat he wanted to kiss up and up and up. 

“Your eyes have gone soft.”

“Can’t believe this is for me. You here with me, like  _ this _ .”

“I ate flower petals from your palms, sweet. Why should I stop at less than making honey surge through your veins?”

Max moaned for him - then did something that made  _ Charles  _ go so hot that he swore that steam rose from his skin, making the flower petals sigh and furl. “Oh, darling… ah… I, ah,  _ skip _ birthdays, remember?”

“Uh-huh. So you got lots of celebrating to catch up on. Lemme show you candles ain’t the only fun things to blow.” 

Charles had never mingled the sensations of throbbing inside a warm mouth with laughter. It turned out to be really fun - and they carried the party deep into the night, at which point Charles produced a cake that was 93% icing and 5% sprinkles. Watching Klinger lick up an icing rose (with real rose petals in his hair), Charles expressed his jealousy - and the party started all over again! 

“Thank you, Major baby,” Max said later, resting in his arms. “For bringin’ my sorts back. There’s just one thing I should kinda warn you, I think.”

“Oh?”

Max turned over to look into his eyes, blue-black hair flopping over one eye. “I think I’m gonna lose ‘em all the time now. Most nights.” 

Charles kissed his forehead. “Good.”

The end! 


End file.
